


A neglected heart

by Nightingale_N



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Character Study, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, I Don't Even Know, I could add so many other tags but I don't know what I'm doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 14:17:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3731977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightingale_N/pseuds/Nightingale_N
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is set during the events of Dragon Age: Inquisition. Leliana reflects about her current situation and her lover: Warden-Commander Cousland. I've been intrigued about sister Nightingale since I finished the game, she seems different from her usual self, so it is in a way a character study. </p><p>Josephine/Inquisitor crush is heavily implied.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A neglected heart

**Author's Note:**

> So! I wrote this thing! It's actually my very first fanfiction (well, I did write one at the age of 13, but that was quite some time ago and doesn't count). After struggling with whether or not I should post it, I decided that hey, why not.
> 
> I hope you like it!

Leliana sighed ever so softly, overlooking the mountains from where she stood. The sun before her was setting, its color a soft yellow. It was a kind sun, not an aggressive one. It peeked through weak clouds and stretched its golden fingers over the mountains, changing their color to make it similar to its own, as a curious spirit would do in an attempt to mimic the world it could not have. Leliana had always liked the colors dancing in front of her at this time of the day, how blue still covered the sky, fighting against the setting sun and the new colors it imposed. 

The bard barely noticed the eager cries of the birds that flew through the gentle breeze. Before she had noticed the one early bird, dozens of them were dancing, twirling and diving in search of easy prey, taking advantage of the light that the sun was casting as it marched towards the mountains.

She never had time to admire these little details throughout her restless days. She was always busy as a bee during spring. The Inquisition always needed to be aided, to be watched, much like a toddler who has just begun to walk. She could always be found doing something, never resting. 

She could be found at the war room, staring at the map, memorizing each city, each river, squinting as if she could make every problem vanish by looking at them. She also liked, in her spare time, to look at Ferelden and think about the days of the Blight. How exciting it had been: so full of promises, of adventures, adrenaline and death. Full of her lover, her lips, her gentle touch. She still shivered in excitement when she remembered. 

She could be found at Josephine’s side, helping her. The Inquisition’s diplomat was too gentle, too naïve, too diplomatic, always wanting to take the long road when solving problems. Leliana enjoyed sitting by her side, hearing her chatting endlessly about the nobles, huffing and puffing as if annoyed, but the bard always noticed that bright spark in the Antivan’s eyes that declared that she liked what she did. She liked feathers being ruffled, she liked the scandals, she liked bringing people together and breaking others apart. Leliana could always see her walking a little bit taller after a long, tiring meeting. She knew that Josephine could always be found by her desk, writing by the candlelight, her hands covered in ink, her back never straightened even though Leliana tried to make her sit properly. She worked until very, very late at night, barely slept four hours a day. The bard had entered her office numerous times only to find the Antivan diplomat leaning comfortably over her desk, sleeping, sleepy sounds escaping her parted lips, always guarding the war room. Leliana would then wake her up softly and talk her into getting some rest, accompanying the tired, beautiful woman to her room and tucking her in.

She also knew that her visits to Josephine benefited her friend. They had been together for such a long time, had shared so many adventures. Leliana had been one of Josephine’s mentors, had taught her how to be naughty and go unnoticed, to embrace boldness, to be brave. She felt like an older sister teaching her little sibling how to get away with mischief. Josephine trusted Leliana deeply, worried over her. She would many times climb all the stairs that separated them to scold the bard for not having eaten yet. She would bring one of her hands to her hips and wave a finger at her, and sister Nightingale would many times pity Yvette and the rest of the Antivan’s siblings. 

That trust meant that Josephine could express her worries to Leliana, tell her little secrets that she trusted would never leave the older woman’s lips. And indeed they didn’t. As of late, Josephine’s worries had concerned the Inquisitor. Oh, how she melted under her gaze in the war room. How she sighed while working, unable to concentrate. She could be found staring at the Inquisitor while they were all together, ogling her, even. Leliana didn’t really like that the leader seemed to be too fond of her friend, either. She had been less worried once she had voiced her opinion to Lavellan and threatened her if she were to harm Josie. Despite Josephine being angry at her for several days after that, she believed it had been worth it. The bard had witnessed how easily the Antivan could fall for someone who paid some attention to her and how she cried when she found that that particular man or woman did the same with countless others or lost interest in her too fast. She would not stand idle while watching her pretty bright eyes drown in sadness again. Not if she could make the one that hurt her pay a heavy price. 

If not by Josephine’s side, her spies knew that she could be at the top of one of the Inquisition’s towers, where the rookery was. She many times would be writing letters, reading reports, tending to the birds or sending them away with promises and secrets tied to their legs. It amused her when Cassandra came to visit, either to check on her or to discuss an urgent matter. The Seeker could not bear the ruckus for more than two minutes. The birds liked to scream, were often startled or fought briefly between each other to settle their own business. They behaved when Nightingale was around, were not scared by her, they would even fight to get her attention, but still, there was only so much Leliana could do to control birds. Whenever there was a visitor they liked to be a little noisier, as if they lived through gossip. That was what Cassandra could not bear. More often than not the bard had to accompany the seeker somewhere quieter if she wanted peace between the noble and her messengers. They could both get carried away easily. Leliana barely noticed them; their screams were part of her daily life. 

They also helped when she was lonely. After sending the last letters, reading the last ones and if nobody needed help, the bard found that she had nothing to do but wait. Before she joined the Inquisition she would spend her free time spying on people. The amount of dirty secrets one could learn if they hid in the shadows amazed her. Alas, she could not simply vanish to spy on others these days. She had to be where people could find her were it strictly necessary. So she spent her spare time mostly praying. She prayed to the Maker and Andraste, hoping for a sign, hoping for help. It never came anymore. She remembered how clearly she had heard her Maker upon seeing that single flower that led her to her Warden. Not only had her creator lit her path towards saving the world from a Tevinter god, he had also guided her to her lover. On darker days she hated her creator and his bride. She would then pass time by thinking about that person who made her heart beat a little bit faster and one of the only reasons she would smile these days. 

Little did she know when she met lady Cousland at Lothering that eventually, Nicole would become her world and her purpose. Leliana had met her at one of Nicole’s most desperate times. She had to deal with the death of her mother, father, sister-in-law, nephew and of all of the people she had lived with while growing up. Despite being a noble, Nicole felt deeply for everyone and everything. She preferred spending time with an elven servant than a human noble. Her closest friends had been the people who served her. Before she had met Leliana, she would often take elves or servant girls who needed affection as lovers: people who were lost in a world that somehow felt too big for them. And those lovers had died too. She also had to deal with the fact that she and Alistair were the only ones left to fight against a horde of evil and their leader. Their leader also happened to be a dragon. The dragon happened to be an old god. And Nicole and Alistair happened to have no idea how they would manage that. 

When Leliana met them, she had been disappointed. The heroes who were to face this evil were two Grey Wardens, an apostate and a Mabari hound. But she remained with them, remembering the flower, almost hearing the Maker whispering in her ear. 

She missed most of them so much. Had she told that to her younger self, the younger Leliana would have laughed at the thought. But she truly did miss them, though. She missed having people who she could trust. She missed hearing Wynne talk about life, sensing her incredible knowledge leaking through every word. She missed Alistair and his sense of humor, how simple life was to him. She missed Zevran, who always worried about her and would make her blush with his comments. She missed Shale complaining about everything. A soft giggle escaped her lips at the thought of Shale finding out about how Leliana spent her days in the company of birds. She would be highly disappointed in her. She even missed arguing with Morrigan, feeling her cheeks flush and that familiar warmth that spread through her chest as she felt the urge to defend her ideas. Morrigan had changed so much, grown so much. Leliana felt a sting of jealousy every time she witnessed the mage looking at her son with so much affection. She missed that feeling. 

She felt so lonely sometimes. Out of all her former companions, the one she missed the most was her Nicole. She always stood so tall, fire never stopped burning in her eyes; fueled by an endless determination, always so brave, so kind, so strong in battle and so gentle inside the tent. A smile shaped the bard’s lips as she remembered how naïve she was, too. The first time she had invited her to share beds, Nicole had been clueless about what Leliana meant, despite her being the first one to flirt whenever she saw a chance to do so. The red-headed woman had gained the courage to finally invite her, after so many lonely nights wishing she could touch her, and Nicole had made her say it bluntly. A young woman asking directly for affection would have been a scandal in Orlais. Yet out in the wilds, Orlesian rules meant nothing. It had been a curious experience, too. The warden had always been so sure about her actions, never doubted before doing what had to be done, never second-guessed herself, and that night she had trembled, scared fingers barely being able to simply undress Leliana, her confidence melted away by nervousness. Nightingale’s soft words and endless reassurance had helped her lover cling to what little courage she had left. More heated and desperate nights came after the first, and her warden became her usual self: brave, bold and confident. A warm feeling left the bard’s lower body aching, longing, but she ignored it. She had learnt to ignore it quite successfully. Nicole had been her last lover, and she would remain such, even if she had been far away for years.

She had received a letter from the Warden some months past. It had helped her in her darkest hours, that silly little piece of paper. The world seemed so dark at times, so terrible. Death and pain was all around her, and it had become almost the norm. She felt so betrayed by the Maker. Yet she came to him as an eager puppy, prayed to him, begged. If only she could see Nicole one more time, her doubts would vanish. She turned around to face her room and saw the box that contained the letter, along some other personal belongings. She still kept a necklace shaped like a sword that her lover had given to her, a pair of diamond earrings and a little ring that was slightly broken, but she kept it either way. She only had those things because she had them on her when Haven was attacked. The rest of Nicole’s gifts – such as her chantry amulet, a golden symbol of Andraste, a little painted skyball, her promises, the love letters, the dirty letters and many other things – she could not reach on time. She had asked two of her scouts to search her quarters and bring her back anything they could find. They found nothing but ashes and emptiness. Since then, she was always worried she might lose that letter too. She always had an itch at the back of her mind whenever she wasn’t in her room. Sometimes, that letter was the only evidence she had that her lover still remembered their time together, was alive somewhere, eager to see her. She wondered if Nicole had changed over the past few years. She also wondered if she would find the bard… different.

The sun had already departed, leaving a sky full of tiny stars. Up in Skyhold, away from everything else, they shined brighter than she had ever witnessed. The birds that had been roaming the skies not a few minutes ago were nowhere to be seen. The people that lived in the fortress were no doubt already eating, chatting together about their day, happy that they were serving the Inquisition. Most people usually went to sleep not long after dinner and rose very early in the morning, when the sun came up. Only a few people stayed awake longer than that. People such as Josephine and Commander Cullen, who were so busy, Cassandra, who had always liked staying up a bit late, and of course, the people who were troubled enough that could not sleep. Leliana herself could be counted among those people. The Inquisitor belonged in that group as well. 

The little elf still seemed lost among so many humans, was usually up walking around Skyhold, worrying about everyone she had to save, everyone who looked up to her and whom she had to serve as an example to, everyone that had died by her hand and how she was going to deal with all of it. At Haven, Lavellan used to sneak away into the nearby lake and woods and roam around, gathering herbs, rocks, befriending little beasts easily. Apparently, the Inquisitor was very fond of fennecs and liked to play with them. She gained their trust easily enough, something that wasn’t surprising considering she had grown up surrounded by animals. Leliana knew all of this because she always had a spy watching her from a distance, a young girl who always complained about how the Inquisitor liked climbing trees, climbing over rocks, jumping dangerous lengths and heights, sliding through steep terrain and running around, stopping so many times to gather so many things that the girl always felt her heart racing because she thought Lavellan had seen her. She paid that spy a little bit more.

Right here at Skyhold, the Inquisitor did not have the luxury of escaping the area to go to the woods. At Haven she had merely been a pawn, an elf that happened to be able to seal rifts, but it was mainly Cassandra, Josephine and Leliana who held the Inquisition in place. Now Lavellan was the Inquisitor, and most of the burdens that her advisors carried now fell on her small shoulders. She was so young, barely twenty-two, her green eyes narrowed with curiosity over all the things she wanted to learn and the stress of such little time. Nobility she had learnt by heart, however. Lavellan played the interested and willing-to-learn student, but it was obvious to whoever wanted to pay attention that the fact that Josephine was her teacher made it a very, very interesting subject.

When Leliana looked at her she could almost see a little animal who felt caged, unable to fly. Lavellan liked feeling the breeze caressing her skin, liked running and hunting, using her magic whenever she felt the urge to and not worrying about every person who would scream if she did. The Inquisitor was almost too eager to leave Skyhold and go on adventures. Cassandra had grown attached to her, they had become close friends, and sometimes the Nevarran seemed like an older sister. She went with Lavellan on every little expedition, even if the elf simply wished to go to Val Royeaux to walk around, and would many times scold the elf at Skyhold for jumping too high or almost tripping since she ran everywhere. Leliana had noticed, however, that the markings on her face that stated her servitude to Mythal, the markings that the elves called vallaslin, no longer twisted with guilt when the Seeker asked her to be more careful. She didn’t listen to her warnings anymore. The bard had seen her walk away, turn around and start running again when Cassandra was not looking. It was good that the elf had such a strong and powerful woman watching her back. Not many people were willing to threaten her when seeker Pentaghast was near.

After what seemed like a small amount of time, a silhouette made Leliana jump and bring a hand to the hilt of her dagger. She visibly relaxed when she saw it was only Josephine, standing by the door, her head tilted and a worried expression on her face.

“Leliana” she announced as a greeting. “I was wondering if you would like to join me for dinner. It is a bit late and I myself have not eaten yet.” She took a few steps, closing the door behind her. “Is everything alright?”

Leliana nodded once, her hand leaving the dagger and resting on the railing of her little balcony. She liked her room; it was small, warm and she had a perfect view of the mountains and the sunset. She sometimes wished she would appreciate it more often. She hadn't realized how quickly time had passed. It had been a while since she had been trapped for a long time by her thoughts. “It is. I’m not hungry today, Josie, but you should join the others, yes? Don’t worry about me. I promise I won’t miss breakfast tomorrow” she stated, since she had missed it that day. 

Josephine smiled sweetly, sighing and shaking her head. “We will talk later then, Leliana”. Much to her surprise, the Antivan noble opened the door and left, closing it behind her. She was normally more persistent, since Nightingale sometimes – only sometimes – simply needed a little teasing before giving in and going to eat with the rest. 

Sometimes it wasn’t simply that she wasn’t hungry, but that she didn’t feel like being surrounded by so many people. Now, however, after her friend had left she couldn’t help but feel a little bit lonely. She suddenly felt the air around her grow colder, so she walked inside her room and closed the door to the balcony behind her. She ducked before the fire and poked it until it gained force, as if angry that someone had awakened it from its slumber. She stared at it until her bright, blue eyes complained, and she moved on to sit on her bed. She truly did not know what to do. She moved a hand inside her shirt to release her sword-shaped necklace and began fingering it, absently pondering if she should check if new reports needed her attention. She would probably be notified by her agents if that were the case. A knock brought her back to her room. 

“Come in”, she commanded. Another persistent knock and she slowly raised from the bed, her dagger sliding out of its sheath as she prepared for the worst. Anyone of her agents would already have opened the door, no? She opened it slightly, only to find Josephine again, this time carrying a tray filled with food. “Josie, wha-” she began, only to be cut off by the dark-skinned woman.

“Leliana, honestly!” she scolded, looking at the dagger that was still in the bard’s hands. She sheathed it. “No tienes remedio” she added, using her mother tongue and leaving her friend puzzled. Had she just been insulted? “How many times do I have to tell you, Leliana, niceness before knives!” she sighed, exasperated, and continued “I… I couldn’t resist it. It is – or was – your favorite dish.” She said shyly, her anger replaced quickly by a soft smile. 

Leliana stepped aside to let the Antivan diplomat in, and the woman gently set the tray of food on the floor, since Leliana’s little room barely had furniture in it. She didn’t even have a desk; she never bothered bringing one to her quarters. When she was there, it was because nothing else needed her attention. Josephine sat before the food, careful not to ruin her dressing, and looked up at the bard, waiting for her to sit. The fire touched her sun-bathed skin, making her eyes look darker than usual. Leliana finally complied, sitting in front of Josephine. She smiled. It was certainly one of her favorite dishes, but she wasn’t hungry, truly. Yet she ate, seeing as that made her friend happy. 

“You always wear that necklace” Josephine murmured, her eyes fixed on the sword at Leliana’s neck, which had been exposed to the light of her room not long ago. Her own fingers wrapped around it, feeling her own warmth still clinging to it. “You do not speak much of your Warden. Did she give that to you?” she asked politely. She knew the answer, of course she did, but she liked asking about Nicole. The anecdotes that Nightingale told amazed her. Josephine had always been in love with stories about brave heroes, noble people who defeated great evils bearing golden armor and compassionate hearts. Leliana told her bits and pieces about their time together, never too much and never for too long. She didn’t like talking too much about her, her heart would begin to throb if she did. 

“Yes. Nicole always gave us presents” she answered, her friend’s eyes widening slightly as she sensed a story approaching. “She was very good with people, you see. Sometimes it seemed like she wasn’t listening, but she heard us. She remembered every detail, and when we traveled she picked up silly things that reminded her of us” she continued, softly caressing the necklace. Lady Cousland always did that. Leliana remembered talking all night by the fire about things that now seemed so unimportant and yet at the time had so much weight in her life. Nicole used to sit beside her, listening, silently gathering every little detail. Then she would bring her gifts: flowers, shoes, or even her little friend, Schmooples. Schmooples I, of course, father of Schmooples II. Not only did she bathe Leliana in presents, everyone would get something by the end of a tiring adventure. Even Morrigan, who Leliana despised, ended up loving Nicole. 

Josephine’s lips were slightly open, expressing intrigue in a way would be obvious to anyone who had played the Orlesian game. “Oh, Leliana, do tell me a story. Any story. No, how about the time when you defeated Loghain Mac Tir?”

“Josie, you’ve heard that story so many times” Leliana teased. But her friend’s eyes were begging her to tell it again, innocence bathing her features. She couldn’t know how it could sting to tell it again. The bard sighed, her shoulders drooping and told that little story again. Her eyes drifted from time to time to the countless stars, and wondered if her lover witnessed the same sky full of light. Her fingers never left her little lucky charm, and in the moments of comfortable silence, as her dinner grew colder, she prayed for Nicole to come back and fill with light the darkness that slowly gathered inside her often-neglected heart.


End file.
